


Lonely Spider

by OpticalCrown



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Brooklyn loves you Miles, Emotional neglect, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Indulgent af lol, Touch-Starved, descriptions of injuries, excessive use of the word love, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpticalCrown/pseuds/OpticalCrown
Summary: In every universe, Miles is loved.Sometimes it takes him longer to find that love, but he is loved.Sometimes, when life catches up too quickly for a thirteen-year-old, the love finds him instead.





	Lonely Spider

**Author's Note:**

> I adored how important Miles' family was to him in the movie, but I was really curious about what it would be like if Miles was forced to find his love and his emotional anchors from somewhere other than his family in some alternate dimension.

No matter the universe, Miles is always loved.

Always.

The only difference is how.

 

Miles didn’t want to let go of Peter’s hand.

It was bigger than his; warm and strong enough to make the psychedelic hell around them feel like the peace of drinking coffee while walking to school in the morning. It felt like his love for Brooklyn, and maybe that had been the _worst_ time to have an epiphany, but Miles couldn’t help but hear Noir’s, “I love you guys,” ringing in his ears.

Or was that hearing damage from the buildings colliding with each other at the speed of bullets?

“It’s a ‘leap of faith’,” Miles said, his lips curled up in a wry smile.

Peter scoffed and smiled back in his own, ‘hobo-Spiderman’ way, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. He squeezed Miles’ palm tightly, and the two of them let go.

 

The memory still stings even now, months later, but Miles snickers to himself in class. The wide scantron pencil that he got on a whim is being used to draw a blocky sketch of Peter B. in all of his sweatpants glory. The boy tries to be a bit kind though and slims down the man’s stomach. The guy has probably already scored a date with MJ by now in his universe.

Maybe he complains to MJ over wine about the random kid he met in a different dimension. About how he literally guilt-tripped Peter into sticking around, and about how he smashed the goober in the dumbest way possible–

“Miles.”

He blinks and looks up with wide eyes. He wishes his Spidey sense would be quiet too. It’s telling him that the rest of the class is staring right now too. The teacher raps the smart screen with her knuckles, the image of the ziggurat rippling under the impact.

“Yes?”

“Give me an example of what the Aztecs used their temples for?”

“Uh, elaborate sport rituals where sometimes the losing team was sacrificed.”

The answer is sufficient enough for her, and she uses his answer as a jumping off point to go more in-depth into Aztec culture. With one ear on her words, he glances back down at his sketch. The damage is enough to make him wince.

The insignia over Peter’s heart has been ruined by a dark mark. Pursing his lips, Miles digs through his pencil case for the good foam eraser that’s definitely there. With a light touch, he rubs away the mistake, but the mark is still there – right in the middle of the spider.

He sighs.

It’s just a sketch, but the whole thing feels ominous somehow. Maybe the life or death experience worked great as a bonding experience, but now that he’s back home and getting back together with MJ… In hindsight, was Miles annoying as hell?

“Shut up brain,” he groans, rapping his skull a few times.

“Um, you okay, Spiderman?” the jewelry store manager asks.

He whips around, the lenses of his mask blown wide.

“’M fine, fine!” he yelps, his voice cracking as he quickly webs up the broken glass on the floor. “Are you gonna be alright? Your store’s kinda trashed.”

“That’s what insurance is for, y’know?”

“Oh. Oh… That’s good. Hand me that broom?”

The man tosses him another broom and he webs it into his hands before helping to get the smaller bits into manageable piles. Yeah, what is he thinking? It started out rough, but Peter said he was proud of him. Other than Uncle Aaron, he can’t remember anyone else telling him that.

Proud. Proud, proud, proud.

What a great word.

Miles instinctively presses the back of his wrist to his smile, trying to hide it, even if it’s behind his mask.

“Spiderman again?”

The voice makes him squeeze the broom so hard that the plastic handle shatters. The clerk waves it off before he can even go into a string of apologies, and in that moment of shock, Officer Davis is already standing right in front of him.

The man isn’t as tall as Kingpin, but damn is he still _big_. Miles grits his teeth and forces his shoulders back as he feels them curling in. One slip up, and he’s _fucked_.

“Officer Davis!” he chirps back, trying to speak from the diaphragm.

Oh god it still sounds stupid. He stayed away from videos for a week after hearing his voice in one of them. Ganke was howling in laughter, and for revenge he forced to have his roommate help him practice for a whole hour.

“I know you said that the webs are hard to cut though, but they all had guns this time, and there were so many people around and I just wanted to make sure that nothing happened – I mean it would _suck_ if a random person got hit, but that would mean that I’d need to wrap them up some more, and I know you complained about it last time but I really, _really_ didn’t-!”

The click of handcuffs stuns him into silence, and he turns around to see another cop taking the clerk into custody.

“Are you an idiot? That guy was using you the whole time,” Davis says.

“… Wha?”

The man sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose under his sunglasses. Then, he stares down Miles.

Miles can’t help it. Spiderman curls in. Just a little.

“Anytime superheroes are involved, insurance payouts are higher. This guy was keeping track of your patrol times and hiring armed thugs to target the chains he owns around the city for the payout. If you were to come over and play hero, even better.”

Miles stares in shock as his dad speeds off into the distance, clerk in tow.

He feels like he’s been gut-punched, and his posture sways, crushing more glass beneath his feet. Someone older runs up and grabs his arm, forcing him to stay in reality just a little bit longer.

“I don’t care what that cop just said! I almost got shot, but you _saved_ me!” he yells, gratitude shining in his eyes.

Miles opens and closes his mouth, but the only noise that comes out is a strangled gasp. Scowling, he slaps a palm over his mouth, forcing a deep breath in through his nose. Satisfied, he eventually lets it out.

“Thanks man,” he says back, his voice lilting up, before he shoots a web and starts his patrol back up.

Peter.

 _Peter_.

Peter, he fucked up a little today.

His dad’s words gouge straight into the wound left by letting go of his mentor’s hand.

Miles knows that he’s allowed to make mistakes, but that’s the issue. _Miles_ is allowed to make mistakes.

Not Spiderman.

 

Conversation is sparse that weekend back at home. During dinner, his mom keeps checking her phone, frowning, and when the call comes in, she winces.

“Knew it. Knew it knew it knew it,” she grumbles, but with an exasperated smile on her face. “Told them that we were gonna be short-staffed for tonight, especially with that concert going on so close but–!”

Davis laughs and steals her leftovers.

“Make up band names and see what they tell ya’,” he jokes as she rushes out the door.

“Read my mind!”

And then, she’s gone. Leaving just Davis and Miles at the table.

“You see Spiderman today?” Miles asks after a minute, voice low and soft.

Davis groans.

“Don’t tell me you’re a fan, please don’t. This idiot is running around the city, pretending like he knows best, when today all he did was help some guy commit fraud.”

“Ouch.”

The conversation dies as soon as it begins, and Miles shovels the food into his mouth, dumping the dishes into the sink before rushing back into his room.

Ohhhh, that was stupid. Like kicking a hornet’s nest of salt all over a papercut.

Did he seriously think his dad was gonna have a change of heart in only a handful of hours? Oh, Miles, you are being so, so stupid.

He was spoiled for a handful of days, and now it’s like he expects every meal with more than two people to be full of bustling laughter and a deep earnestness that tastes like lemons dipped in sugar. He got spoiled listening to Gwen complain about crazed audiences at her concerts as Peni mulled over how to best upgrade the tabletop jukebox, all while Noir stared in wonder at Ham’s cartoon tricks that made Peter choke on milkshakes just from watching.

He’d be crushed in-between all those people, eating and not saying much, just basking in the warmth of being truly connected to others for the first time in his life.

Saying goodbye cut him deep, and now his chest throbs every now and then.

Miles just sighs, smiles, and tugs on his suit. It’s time for a night out on town.

 

His Spidey sense warns him about all the cameras flashing as he swings through Brooklyn, and his face grows hot under the mask. Swinging around like this is the coolest thing ever, but the photos are still a bit embarrassing. He’s not the most photogenic while catapulting his body through the air, but if people are having fun doing it, then who cares?

He yanks sharply on a thread as he sees the concert his mom was talking about. The audience has formed a ring around a handful of people fighting in the outdoor venue, and even the performers have stopped in exasperation, yelling into their mic’s and trying to get the idiots to stop.

Calculating the angles as he sends out another line, he swings just low enough over everyone’s heads to land straight in the middle of scuffle. Without saying a thing, he starts throwing his own punches, just the way Uncle Aaron taught: fingers tightly curled in and thumb firmly bracing it on the outside. A man screeches, and pulls out a switchblade, the blade flashing under the multi-colored lights.

The world slows down, and Miles watches as the knife swings up, then down, straight into the path of another unsuspecting brawler.

Or, at least it tries to.

Miles leaps forward, one arm shielding his face while the other flings back the would-be victim. The blade slices through the flesh of his forearm, and he bites back a scream before webbing the knife and flinging it to the ground, where it sinks deep into the asphalt.

“You could’ve hurt someone!” he yells, roundhouse-kicking the guy and webbing him to the ground while he’s airborne.

The move is flashy enough, the entire fight stops, and the crowd actually quiets for a few seconds in shock.

Miles breathes heavily, then puffs out his cheeks in indignation as blood drips down to his fingertips and onto the ground.

What a night.

“Dude, you saved my life!” the man Miles pushed exclaims, rushing forward to sling an arm around Miles neck as he laughs. “Thanks man, you’re awesome!” The entire venue bursts into cheers, and Miles hopes that someone’s called the police by now.

The man’s arm is broad, and it’s just like how Uncle Aaron used to wrap his arm around Miles, but Uncle Aaron isn’t here anymore, because of Miles. He can’t save everyone, Miles knows that, but goddamn did it hurt to have Uncle Aaron _die in his arms_ and –!

“Kid, are you alright?”

Miles blinks at the new stranger staring at him. The other man is now holding him by the shoulders, looking at him with worry in his features.

“Dude, you stopped breathing for a hot second.”

“Oh, breathing. Yeah, haha! That’s a real good idea, haha!” Miles yelps, forcing himself to take deep breaths and force down the guilt gnawing at his chest. The guy he saved looks apologetic.

“Sorry, was it because I grabbed you around the neck like that? Ugh, my buddies are always telling me to remember personal space. Totally forgot to ask if you were okay with this!”

Miles shakes his head so hard that his vision spins for a second.

“No, no! It’s not your fault! It’s just me being stupid, no worries!”

The man lets go, and he shares a concerned glance with the other stranger. The pressure leaves Miles’ shoulders, and he feels like it takes away of chunk of his heart as well.

Oh yeah, that’s right. When was the last time someone hugged him or anything like that?

Months ago, when there was still Uncle Aaron and the other Spiders were there.

He was spoiled for choice, but especially spoiled when Peter ruffled his hair and hugged him and said that he loved him and was so proud of him becoming Spiderman.

Fuck, Peter’s gonna be an amazing dad, Miles bets.

The stranger sighs and smiles at the man, then whacks him on the head.

“You’re a dumbass!”

“I’m sorry!”

The stranger turns back to Miles, trying to hide his laughter by fixing his glasses.

“Anyways, thanks too for saving my dumbass boyfriend.”

Miles laughs and waves a hand.

“Just doin’ my job!”

Blood splatters over their clothes.

“Oh, oh shit!” Miles shouts and grabs his arm. The two tense up, and Miles starts rambling again. “Oh man, you guys need to work fast. My mom says that with bloodstains, the faster the better, and with cold water too! Not hot water!”

The guy with glasses’ jaw drops, and he splutters, gesturing at Miles’ arm. His boyfriend helpfully chimes in.

“Your arm is kinda sliced open.”

“It’ll be okay!”

“You sure you don’t need like a hospital or som- “

“Nope!”

“You sure?”

“Nope!”

With a _pop!_ Miles vanishes and he dashes away from the crowd, slinging himself high into the air as soon as he can. The bleeding is already beginning to stop, but he still should treat it, and drop the suit off at Aunt May’s when he can to fix it. A few searches on his phone later, and he’s ready to just wing it, especially with how his arm is throbbing uncomfortably.

Grumbling, he shoots a web with his injured hand, and screeches as pain scalds his entire arm, and he feels the laceration tearing open wider from the strain. Screaming all sorts of swears his soaring arc turns jittery and erratic as he begins shooting threads one-handed, eventually hitting the ground with a stumble.

“Shiiiiiit,” he mutters, watching the cut start bleeding again. “This is stupid.”

He pauses, then quickly types Ganke a message. His phone immediately begins ringing.

“Hullo?”

“Dude, are you alright?!”

“Uh, yeah. Some asshole just cut me.”

“Dude. Duuuuuude. That is _not_ alright. Come back as soon as you can, I’ll get the stuff!”

“You’re making a real big deal out of this,” Miles says with a chuckle, and he rips his phone away from his ear as Ganke starts yelling.

“Okay, okay, I got it!”

Ganke hangs up, but the concern makes Miles’ heart buzz with warmth. It’s nice to know that someone’s worried, but a part of him also tells him that do this too much, and he’ll start to lose people.

“Spiderman! Spiderman!”

The voice makes him look away from his phone, and he sees a man waving towards him from a bar. New York is taking pictures, and the shy part of him makes him run over before anyone can see that he’s done with his phone call and free for selfies.

As he hurries over, dripping blood onto the sidewalk, he frowns as he sees the grave expression on the bouncer’s face.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

“Your arm, it’s bleeding!”

“Oh, it’ll be good by tomorrow! No worries!”

The bouncer groans, then gestures for Miles to come in.

“Yeah, no. My boss’ll kill me if she knows I let some kid bleed out on the street.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“Oh, youth,” the bouncer mutters as he leads Miles into the hole-in-the-wall bar.

“Sissy, where’s the first-aid kit?”

“Why the hell do you- Spiderman?!” the bartender shouts, and suddenly every single patron in the bar is staring at them.

“Um, hi?” he whispers.

The customers are mix of ages and fashions, but somehow, they all still mesh in the mellow atmosphere of the bar, all soft cushions and plants and yellow lighting. Some immediately leap off their chairs and try to swarm him, before the bouncer steps firmly in front.

“Can’t ya’ see the kid’s hurt!” he roars, and most of them sheepishly slink back to their seats. Some instead follow him as the bartender, Sissy, slaps the counter, gesturing for him to sit.

“I’ll go grab the kit,” she breathes, before disappearing into the back.

Someone points at the cut.

“How’d that happen?”

“I pushed someone out of the way of a knife.”

“Shit, and you let yourself get sliced instead? Hardcore.”

“Yo, can I get a selfie?”

“If you don’t mind the _blood_?”

“Cool, thanks.”

The guy, maybe in college or something, holds up his phone, and Miles realizes that he’s out of the frame right now. He scoots in, accidentally bumping their arms together. He quickly holds the cut further away, to keep the blood off of the person’s jacket. His brain pauses, then he pretends to press in, in order to see the screen better. The feel of another human body reminds him of all his friends in other dimensions, as he smiles, right as the shutter clicks. Selfie guy’s piercings are glinting and sparkling under the lights, and Miles squints, wondering why the world is suddenly so blurry.

He blinks and holds his head, feeling blood drip down the arm.

Hmm… how much blood does someone have to lose before they start losing out on that sweet, sweet oxygen?

“I think my brain is suffocating,” he so eloquently says, before plopping himself onto the closest barstool.

His lanky limbs dangle off and sway as he clenches his wrist even tighter and leans against the bar. Breathing deeply, he mutters and decides to just sprawl himself over the countertop, as his head spins and won’t stop spinning either.

“I’m back,” Sissy says as she snaps open the first aid kit, just in time to see Miles bleeding onto the bar.

“Jesus, ah, shit! Do I need to call-!”

Miles snaps up.

“Nope! Gonna be good by tomorrow, just gotta let the bleeding stop!”

He pulls down his glove and starts helping himself to the first-aid kit after mumbling some apologies that are quickly dismissed. People at the bar wince as they see the cut, but Miles merely uses some suture strips and a pad of gauze before wrapping the whole thing in an ace bandage.

“Whoa, Spiderman knows his stuff,” Sissy whistles, while Miles stretches and moves his arm. After what happened last time, he probably still needs to be careful about swinging home.

“Nah, just the in– I’m just that awesome,” he jokes, squeezing his arm and feeling it throb. “Oh, fuck me.”

Sissy stares at him.

“Language, child.”

“I can say ‘fuck’. Look – I’m bleeding!”

Sissy rolls her eyes and leans back, close to the bottles of liquor on the wall.

“Okay then, Mr. Spider- _Man_. What do you wanna drink?”

She glances at her side, then immediately snaps back to the wide lenses on the boy’s suit.

“No! Nope!”

“I wasn’t gonna ask!”

“Still no!”

Miles groans and dramatically leans back over the barstool, before his body snaps up.

“Wait, I wanna try an egg cream!”

“Damn, haven’t heard of one of those in a hot while. Did you secretly switch souls with a grizzled grandpa?” she teases, digging through for just the right glass for the pubescent hero.

“Haha. Nah, someone I know really likes these, so I wanna know what they taste like.”

“Hey! Someone toss me some milk and chocolate syrup for the kid!” she screams into the kitchen before reappearing. Miles presses a palm to his cheeks as he hears all of the embarrassingly childish and sweet ingredients.

“You have a _sweet tooth_ , Noir?”

He giggles to himself, drawing the gaze of those sitting next to him. They’re trying to be sneaky, but his Spidey sense has been pinging nonstop ever since he got into the bar from all the photos. He’s more preoccupied with his current discovery though. For all of his brooding and angst, Miles is only just now realizing how weirdly _cute_ the grown man was. After all, this was the same guy who gushed over the colors on a Rubik’s cube and literally had to take a few seconds to say that he loved them, even as a universe-destroying vortex was screaming underneath.

His heart twists and a rock drops into his stomach. He beats his chest in annoyance, as if it’ll chase away the feelings.

“That friend of yours – were they Peter Parker?”

The man asking him on the left means no harm, but Miles scrunches in on himself, breaths quickening as he struggles to stave off those dark memories.

Peter Parker, defiant even to the last second, body buried under rubble.

_Concrete slabs that Miles could’ve moved, even with his barely emerged powers._

Kingpin roaring and bringing his fists down onto the defenseless man.

_Peter Parker’s skull bursting open, fine features ballooning up before rupturing like an overripe fruit, leaving a red splatter of brain and bone and teeth splashed out over the ground._

_Kingpin’s shoes mixing the blood with the dust on the ground into mud with his expensive leather shoes._

_The Prowler… Uncle Aaron, coming after him with bloodlust, forcing Miles to run for his life for the first time in his thirteen years of existence._

“Here. The egg cream.”

Sissy slams the glass down, sloshing the drink and spilling some.

“Th-thanks,” he mutters, picking up the cup, vaguely focusing on the interesting beveled edges. Those sitting in the bar mutter as he uses the arm they just saw split open. His hand wavers and he quickly supports it against his opposite palm.

Miles swallows.

He should stay quiet, but he can also feel the words – no, not words – the emotions buzzing and screeching in his head. They scratch at the inside of his skull, and at the lips pressed tightly together behind the mask.

As the mask rolls up, the stares pierce into him with an even stronger ferocity, and he allows himself a faint exhale. The egg cream awaits, and when Miles sips it, the foam sticking to his upper lip, he almost expects it to taste amazing, just like how Noir was an amazing Spiderman too.

“Pfff, it’s fizzy chocolate milk!” he laughs, taking another sip, before promptly slumping in his seat. This was a mistake. Now he just wants to talk with everyone and tease Noir with them all. Gwen would definitely back him up, Peter B. would do what little he could with his old-dude humor, Peni would be merciless with the future burns, and Ham would… just be Ham.

“Ehhh, I guess he was kinda-sorta Peter,” he says, answering a question far too late. “When all the Spidermen were here, the one who really liked egg creams was the guy in grey.”

“So, you never knew Peter Parker?” the guy asks, digging for something that Miles is sure he won’t be able to give.

What is he? A journalist? Miles better pick his words better then.

“I accidentally met him after getting my powers. He said he wanted to help teach me everything, but… it didn’t work out.”

The man’s eyes widen.

“Oh my god. We could’ve had two Spidermen in the city? Damn, can you imagine? Maybe we’d be calling you Spider- _Kid_ instead of Spiderman right now.”

“That’s wild. I… It doesn’t… No, it does. The person who did it is in jail now, and plus, I kept the promise I made with Mr. Parker. Somehow.”

“… It wasn’t an accident?” Sissy asks.

Suddenly, Miles is aware of how the entire bar is deathly silent, clinging to his every word. He knows secrets about the city’s beloved hero, and of course they’re desperate for anything.

Irritation flashes through him, but he clamps down on it, gritting his teeth, squeezing his arm to make the pain shatter throughout.

“I got my powers by accident, and I met Mr. Parker by accident. I just… happened to be there when everything happened. He was trying to save Brooklyn, but everyone was ganging up on him, and I was in the way too and-!”

Miles jams the fleshy part of his thumb into his mouth and bites down, forcefully gagging himself.

He’s Spiderman right now. Not Miles.

Spiderman needs to be strong and unflappable and right now he just sounds like some whiny kid and that will _not_ fly–

“Are you okay?” the man asks. “That… That sounds really traumatizing. Have you been able to talk to anyone about it?”

Miles stares back.

“Repeat that back to yourself.”

“… Never mind.”

“Honestly, this whole ‘traumatic backstory’ thing really sucks,” he groans. “Everyone else was telling me theirs’, and sometimes you just gotta wonder if ‘no-therapy’ is just a thing all Spidermen have to deal with.”

_Peter Parker, with his skull caved in and a single blue eyeball glittering up at him in the faint light._

_Uncle Aaron’s blood, pouring over his body as he held the man in his arms, listening to those weak, whispered words._

“My brain won’t shut up,” he suddenly says, taking a gulp of the egg cream. It’s sweet and fun and reminds him of everyone else and he desperately needs that right now.

“You really aren’t okay.”

“I will be.”

Egg cream. Sweet. Fizzy.

Why can’t he put some of that fizz in his heart?

“Ugh, how do I say this without being creepy. Um, you need a hug or something?” the man asks. The stranger seems to have completely lost whatever ulterior motives he had. Now, he just stares at Miles with a strange expression. Miles tilts his head, trying to decipher what those scrunched eyebrows and bared teeth mean.

It’s familiar, and he’s sure that he’s seen it before, but from where?

Oh.

Aunt May and all of his Spider friends.

The sheer fear in Peter B.’s eyes that was not for himself, but for Miles.

Concern.

“Y-you don’t need to be worried about me! Swear! Uh, I heal pretty fast, and it’s always really fun meeting new people as Spiderman, well, except when they’re trying to kill you, but it’s usually amazing!”

The guy keeps staring with sheer worry in his eyes, then mumbles an apology before bringing Miles into a big hug.

Miles’ entire body stiffens, his mind reeling as he tries to react to this strange and unfamiliar sensation. It feels like when Peter B. hugged him and said that he was proud and that he loved Miles. This feels like that, warm and safe.

The emotions escape.

“It-It was really bad! There was blood everywhere and then I was getting chased and I didn’t know what to do! All the other Spidermen came but they were all _so_ cool and I couldn’t do a damn thing and they were all so chill with just dying for this universe, even though I could do it, and the other Peter kept on rooting for me, even though I was just this fucking kid that he’d met out of nowhere, and it’s crazy! He trusted me, this newbie Spiderman who couldn’t – fuck, I _still_ can’t do anything! I’m still messing up and…”

Miles’ voice trails off and splinters into full-bodied wails, the stranger with an infinite well of kindness and patience patting his back the entire time.

“You did it though, didn’t you?” he replies. “You saved Brooklyn. You saved us all.”

Miles leans away, blinking away tears and choking on his sobs.

“I did it together with everyone. I couldn’t have done it myself.”

“But you did it, didn’t you?”

“I… I guess so.”

The man replaces his face of worry with one full of big smiles.

“Then thank you!” he exclaims, the corners of his eyes crinkling with laughter.

“Yeah, thanks Spiderman!”

“You rock!”

“Fuckin’ A!”

The cheers begin to build up, and Miles’ image ripples and wavers in the air, prompting more shouts. His face must be blooming red right now, and while the blood is still taking the time to rush up his neck, he gulps down the egg cream and yanks down his mask in a hurry, sprinting outside.

He barely manages to remember to say a thanks and a goodbye, and the crowd rushes after him outside.

“We love ya’, Spiderman!”

The sweetness lingers on his lips, and the corners curve up and he swings away back home to the school, where Ganke will be waiting with snacks at the ready.

 

Miles loves Brooklyn, and Brooklyn loves Miles.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, my headcanon for this dimension is that rather than his dad's pep talk, it's Peter B.'s trust in him that really moves Miles to take his leap of faith, since no one's ever openly trusted him and loved him like this (besides his busy mom and Aaron).
> 
> Of course, that means he still doesn't have great control over his powers, as he's still dealing with a whole host of other issues besides his PTSD from witnessing waaaay too much death for a 13-year-old kid. The other Spidermen leaving also hits him incredibly hard compared to in the movie, since he's touch-starved and unconsciously desperate for more companionship.


End file.
